Psychophant's Rants
8.4.07
Lamb Overdose
I am just recovering from Easter Sunday lunch. We are in Athens, and it seems that everyone here is having lamb with the family while the whole country is closed up, so, as we already knew what was coming, unlike so many lost and bereft tourists we met this morning (how can the Acropolis be closed? It is our ony day here!), our only target today was to find someplace serving lamb on the spit, ideally to Greek people rather than just tourists.
To enjoy the nice sunny morning (we overslept because yesterday had been a long and tiring day) we took the tram to the Aegean, and after a nice walk by the sea, and while we considered how we had not found any promising place and debated whether to fall back into the back-up plan, the touristy Plaka area where we were sure to get something close to what we wanted, my nose warned me that there was roast lamb close. That was a common enough smell during the morning as families readied the Easter meal, but not to be expected by the sea in a commercial area.
Looking further we found a restaurant full of Greek families and elderly Greek couples (the ones losing the kids' lottery with the political family, we supposed) and a few lost tourists, recognized by the salads and pasta on their tables.
The whole meal was a nice experience, even what we normally would consider negative points, such as the waiter in his fifties that just seemed unable to see or hear my wife (while talking at length with me) or the long waits while the crowded people were settled in. In the end we followed the waiter's advice, so we got a kilogram of roasted lamb and some roasted pork (the lamb tripes were all eaten by then) with only bread and wine as accompanyment, as he refused to accept our order of a salad.
The lamb was excellent, as also was the pork, and having seen it roast for a while before it came to the table brought all of it closer. After Lent, the excesses of meat are almost needed, and there was such a joy around us, in the familiarity between customers and servers, or the waiters with foreigners as us, that it was impossible not to share in the joy of the day, something that we had slightly glimpsed yesterday at midnight, when sharing the Holy Light. I think it was a bit of the spirit that took us to the Epitáphios on Good Friday, to the Ressurrection and joy on Saturday night (and we cracked our eggs and got our Magiritsa soup) that made us enjoy also the Sunday meal.
Now my wife is taking a nap while I write, and probably we will go for a walk and some night sights of the city. Fortunately lamb overdoses have few secondary effects. Life is good! ¶ 5:06 PM 0 comments
I am just recovering from Easter Sunday lunch. We are in Athens, and it seems that everyone here is having lamb with the family while the whole country is closed up, so, as we already knew what was coming, unlike so many lost and bereft tourists we met this morning (how can the Acropolis be closed? It is our ony day here!), our only target today was to find someplace serving lamb on the spit, ideally to Greek people rather than just tourists.
To enjoy the nice sunny morning (we overslept because yesterday had been a long and tiring day) we took the tram to the Aegean, and after a nice walk by the sea, and while we considered how we had not found any promising place and debated whether to fall back into the back-up plan, the touristy Plaka area where we were sure to get something close to what we wanted, my nose warned me that there was roast lamb close. That was a common enough smell during the morning as families readied the Easter meal, but not to be expected by the sea in a commercial area.
Looking further we found a restaurant full of Greek families and elderly Greek couples (the ones losing the kids' lottery with the political family, we supposed) and a few lost tourists, recognized by the salads and pasta on their tables.
The whole meal was a nice experience, even what we normally would consider negative points, such as the waiter in his fifties that just seemed unable to see or hear my wife (while talking at length with me) or the long waits while the crowded people were settled in. In the end we followed the waiter's advice, so we got a kilogram of roasted lamb and some roasted pork (the lamb tripes were all eaten by then) with only bread and wine as accompanyment, as he refused to accept our order of a salad.
The lamb was excellent, as also was the pork, and having seen it roast for a while before it came to the table brought all of it closer. After Lent, the excesses of meat are almost needed, and there was such a joy around us, in the familiarity between customers and servers, or the waiters with foreigners as us, that it was impossible not to share in the joy of the day, something that we had slightly glimpsed yesterday at midnight, when sharing the Holy Light. I think it was a bit of the spirit that took us to the Epitáphios on Good Friday, to the Ressurrection and joy on Saturday night (and we cracked our eggs and got our Magiritsa soup) that made us enjoy also the Sunday meal.
Now my wife is taking a nap while I write, and probably we will go for a walk and some night sights of the city. Fortunately lamb overdoses have few secondary effects. Life is good! ¶ 5:06 PM 0 comments
3.4.07
300. Not for me.
Most people that have seen it have been quite positive, up to praising and gushing. Even people who do not usually enjoy violent films (such as my wife, stunned maybe by the Spartan six-packs). So, being a frequent cinema goer, a former comic collector and also a former admirer of Frank Miller’s work, it was clear I would see it.
And I had to force myself to stay till the (quite unsurprising, of course) ending. Some moments were quite amazing technically, even if they were scenes of maiming and homicide. Some moments were quite well acted (David Wenham was quite good as Dilios, for instance). But the whole story, the big arguments that the movie is pushing, that the studio therefore Hollywood as an establishment are pushing really put my teeth on edge.
It is clearly deliberate the ambiguous identification with the Spartans. Both an US infantryman and an Iraqi resistant can identify with them. Unfortunately for some it is clear-cut. Most Iraqi policemen can only identify themselves with Ephialtes, the traitor. But it is not really significant. The comic was written in 1998, so clearly that was not the aim. I am sure the author wanted readers, no matter their origin, to identify with the Spartans, and the totalitarian views shown are apparent in others of his works.
But it is one thing an idiosyncratic comic scriptwriter, reaching a target audience of fans within an already warped reality paradigm (vigilante justice, failure of the state to fulfil its duties…) and another that the big studio system, launching what was planned (at least by the promotion) as one of the big blockbusters of the year, keeping that same message. So although the problems are the same I have with the graphic novel, the sheer impact of the movie compared to the comic makes it worse.
For me the problem is double. On one hand I cannot suspend my disbelief between what we are being shown and the historical basis. Mostly because it is a period of history I have some familiarity with, and the whole Thermopylae, Salamina and Plataea set of battles defined the Mediterranean for centuries.
Where are the Helots, the Spartan slaves that grow the fields that feed those full time soldiers, unlike those Athenians or Thespians who are citizens first, and soldiers second? We see the fields, but not who tends them. And seven Helots (probably) died for every Spartiate(1) (I will not call them Spartans, as the Helots were as Spartan by then as the soldier class, even if they had been conquered a century earlier) at the Hot Gates. And it dilutes also what for me is the greatest glory of the Spartans at the Thermopylae. When the Persians found the shepherd trail to bypass the Greek defence, the ragtag army assembled from all of Greece (transformed here in a pitiful handful), it was the Spartans who stayed behind in a doomed effort to allow the others to escape and hopefully assemble a full army to face the Persians. Without forgetting those Thebans and Thespians that stayed with Leonidas to the end. But here, by making the allied forces so pitiful, there does not seem to be a reason for the king and his men to sacrifice themselves. Well, there is the Law, it seems, but we have seen Leonidas flaunt that Law already, and he has shown his contempt for the old traditions. No, he (and many of the movie Spartans) is shown with a huge death wish, just looking for a good excuse. Not heroic, not dutiful, just suicidal. Which, for me, cheapens the historical event and makes the final moments histrionic.
This is a problem, but something I am used to with Hollywood. The simplification of stories and events is something intrinsic to commercial cinema. But the second problem is worse. They apply to different cultures another Superhero comic paradigm (and the Spartan law fits superheroes well). Never retreat, never surrender, never negotiate (and as shown in the movie, never acknowledge your mistakes). Those who talk with the enemy (taunts are allowed) are traitors for sure. And it is that message that the only interaction with other cultures is "never cede", and if they are trying to talk with you, they must be weak, because talk and negotiation is a resource of the weak, that really incenses me.
Unlike most "offended" viewers I have no complaint about the racial stereotyping or the Spartan supermen. Those are possibly the only accurate characterizations (from a Spartan point of view). My concerns are just a matter of message, which would be like complaining about a song’s lyrics. Trivial to some, fundamental for others.
(1). Spartan society was divided in three main classes, Spartiates, Perioikoi and Helots. Spartiates were the military caste, the Perioikoi were residents but not citizens of Sparta, and free men or women (if women could be considered free in classical Greece, except for later days Athens), and the Helots were slaves tending the land owned by the Spartiates (who were the only ones allowed to own land). ¶ 6:08 PM 0 comments
Most people that have seen it have been quite positive, up to praising and gushing. Even people who do not usually enjoy violent films (such as my wife, stunned maybe by the Spartan six-packs). So, being a frequent cinema goer, a former comic collector and also a former admirer of Frank Miller’s work, it was clear I would see it.
And I had to force myself to stay till the (quite unsurprising, of course) ending. Some moments were quite amazing technically, even if they were scenes of maiming and homicide. Some moments were quite well acted (David Wenham was quite good as Dilios, for instance). But the whole story, the big arguments that the movie is pushing, that the studio therefore Hollywood as an establishment are pushing really put my teeth on edge.
It is clearly deliberate the ambiguous identification with the Spartans. Both an US infantryman and an Iraqi resistant can identify with them. Unfortunately for some it is clear-cut. Most Iraqi policemen can only identify themselves with Ephialtes, the traitor. But it is not really significant. The comic was written in 1998, so clearly that was not the aim. I am sure the author wanted readers, no matter their origin, to identify with the Spartans, and the totalitarian views shown are apparent in others of his works.
But it is one thing an idiosyncratic comic scriptwriter, reaching a target audience of fans within an already warped reality paradigm (vigilante justice, failure of the state to fulfil its duties…) and another that the big studio system, launching what was planned (at least by the promotion) as one of the big blockbusters of the year, keeping that same message. So although the problems are the same I have with the graphic novel, the sheer impact of the movie compared to the comic makes it worse.
For me the problem is double. On one hand I cannot suspend my disbelief between what we are being shown and the historical basis. Mostly because it is a period of history I have some familiarity with, and the whole Thermopylae, Salamina and Plataea set of battles defined the Mediterranean for centuries.
Where are the Helots, the Spartan slaves that grow the fields that feed those full time soldiers, unlike those Athenians or Thespians who are citizens first, and soldiers second? We see the fields, but not who tends them. And seven Helots (probably) died for every Spartiate(1) (I will not call them Spartans, as the Helots were as Spartan by then as the soldier class, even if they had been conquered a century earlier) at the Hot Gates. And it dilutes also what for me is the greatest glory of the Spartans at the Thermopylae. When the Persians found the shepherd trail to bypass the Greek defence, the ragtag army assembled from all of Greece (transformed here in a pitiful handful), it was the Spartans who stayed behind in a doomed effort to allow the others to escape and hopefully assemble a full army to face the Persians. Without forgetting those Thebans and Thespians that stayed with Leonidas to the end. But here, by making the allied forces so pitiful, there does not seem to be a reason for the king and his men to sacrifice themselves. Well, there is the Law, it seems, but we have seen Leonidas flaunt that Law already, and he has shown his contempt for the old traditions. No, he (and many of the movie Spartans) is shown with a huge death wish, just looking for a good excuse. Not heroic, not dutiful, just suicidal. Which, for me, cheapens the historical event and makes the final moments histrionic.
This is a problem, but something I am used to with Hollywood. The simplification of stories and events is something intrinsic to commercial cinema. But the second problem is worse. They apply to different cultures another Superhero comic paradigm (and the Spartan law fits superheroes well). Never retreat, never surrender, never negotiate (and as shown in the movie, never acknowledge your mistakes). Those who talk with the enemy (taunts are allowed) are traitors for sure. And it is that message that the only interaction with other cultures is "never cede", and if they are trying to talk with you, they must be weak, because talk and negotiation is a resource of the weak, that really incenses me.
Unlike most "offended" viewers I have no complaint about the racial stereotyping or the Spartan supermen. Those are possibly the only accurate characterizations (from a Spartan point of view). My concerns are just a matter of message, which would be like complaining about a song’s lyrics. Trivial to some, fundamental for others.
(1). Spartan society was divided in three main classes, Spartiates, Perioikoi and Helots. Spartiates were the military caste, the Perioikoi were residents but not citizens of Sparta, and free men or women (if women could be considered free in classical Greece, except for later days Athens), and the Helots were slaves tending the land owned by the Spartiates (who were the only ones allowed to own land). ¶ 6:08 PM 0 comments
1.4.07
That demon, drink
I was planning on getting drunk on grappa, but after a good dinner that seemed like a bad idea, so I have switched to a double helping of White Russian, which will not be enough to get me drunk, but will put me halfway there and enable me to sleep well, despite my bruises (the biggest one, in my pride) after slipping and falling in the rain, with my mother-in-law watching. You see why I need a drink (besides the early start on the grappa).
My White Russian is different than most I have tried around the world because I do not like ice in my White Russian. As well my sugar tolerance is at stratospheric levels.
I fill the cocktail shaker with ice cubes, one cup of vodka, one of cream, one of Kahlúa and one spoonful of sugar. Shake till it gets so cold it hurts to hold it. Pour through the strainer. Enjoy the creamy delight, without dilluting it.
Just this time, by chance, I have Moskovskaya vodka than a friend brought last year from Moscow (where else?). So it is a genuine Russian, at least. ¶ 10:04 PM 0 comments
I was planning on getting drunk on grappa, but after a good dinner that seemed like a bad idea, so I have switched to a double helping of White Russian, which will not be enough to get me drunk, but will put me halfway there and enable me to sleep well, despite my bruises (the biggest one, in my pride) after slipping and falling in the rain, with my mother-in-law watching. You see why I need a drink (besides the early start on the grappa).
My White Russian is different than most I have tried around the world because I do not like ice in my White Russian. As well my sugar tolerance is at stratospheric levels.
I fill the cocktail shaker with ice cubes, one cup of vodka, one of cream, one of Kahlúa and one spoonful of sugar. Shake till it gets so cold it hurts to hold it. Pour through the strainer. Enjoy the creamy delight, without dilluting it.
Just this time, by chance, I have Moskovskaya vodka than a friend brought last year from Moscow (where else?). So it is a genuine Russian, at least. ¶ 10:04 PM 0 comments
